


Honesty

by Diminua



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Dom/sub Play, M/M, Non-Con Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-08 19:55:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7771054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diminua/pseuds/Diminua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can be so careful, and yet Martin keeps thinking about the power those hands must have, the force Douglas could use if he really wanted to..</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this for a meme prompt - but it wandered away from the prompt so I'm posting it here instead.

The bedside lamp glows soft under its gold fringed shade, but it casts enough light that the windows reflect Martin’s own image back as he peers into the dark, watching the rain pound against the glass and turn Douglas’s driveway into one vast puddle, filling as fast as it can drain off. 

‘Still not letting up.’ 

Douglas acknowledges him with a very slight nod, reading glasses perched on his nose as he checks the weather forecast. 

He sighs and sets the phone down lightly on its face. 

‘Same again tomorrow.’ 

‘Oh well. We thought it might be.’ Martin lets the heavy curtain drop and turns back to the bed, sliding in just as Douglas folds the arms in on his glasses and places those down too. 

The wind howls around the house and the rain batters at the windows, but Douglas is warm, pulling him down into the sheets, stroking along his spine, cupping the back of his skull as they kiss. 

He can be so careful, and yet Martin keeps thinking about the power those hands must have, the force Douglas could use if he really wanted to. How easily Douglas could hold him down and just take what he wanted.

It’s not a new fantasy, but it’s stronger lately. To have Douglas on top, crushing him, to be almost bent double, slapped, pushed around. He imagines Douglas gripping tight into his hair and pulling until tears come into his eyes and his head tilts back, Douglas’s other hand wrapping around his throat..

Really though Douglas would never do anything of the kind. Throwing a snowball at the back of Martin’s head is about as physically violent as he’s comfortable with, and if his tongue is occasionally vicious - well it’s not as if Martin can’t be a sarcastic little sod himself on occasion. 

Perversely it’s because he knows this – because he trusts Douglas – that he can afford to want something more. He’ll never tell though, that he fantasises about being on his knees, with Douglas’s cock pressed to the back of his throat, the thunder of blood in his ears as he slowly chokes..

Martin sighs and snuggles closer at the thought, head half disappearing under the duvet as he nuzzles the trail of dark hair down Douglas’s chest, the rounded curve of his belly. 

Douglas hadn’t quite credited, at first, how much Martin seemed to enjoy this. He’d known, of course, that there was an attraction there. Mutual awareness, flaring brightly over snatched breakfasts in strange cities, random word games that he made just a little more suggestive as time passed. Charmed when Martin met him in tone with determined bravado, or grinned and squirmed with consciousness. 

Martin, he has found, is very much better at being courted than doing the courting, but happily unrestrained about sex itself, and deeply, delightfully, generous. 

There are some things though, that Douglas doesn’t think can be asked for. That he shouldn’t even be thinking really. And he wouldn’t truly want to bully Martin, just.. oh _God_ his mouth is lovely. Douglas clutches reflexively at Martin’s curls, realises what he is doing and shifts his hands down, along his neck and the top of his shoulders. 

Martin is, for his size, actually quite strong, and Douglas knows that he wouldn’t break with a little pressure - but that’s how it feels, like Douglas has to be careful. Always, always careful, ever since he was a boy running around with other boys, parents fearful he would hurt someone - not through malice or anger but just by being bigger, and not careful enough.

Which is why, once Martin resurfaces for air - collarbones and cheekbones stained appealingly with pink and mouth tasting of Douglas’s come - Douglas rolls Martin on top of him out of harm’s way before he finishes him off with his rough palm and several quick, firm, jerks of his wrist. 

It’s messy, between Douglas’s belly and his hand, and Martin slides off again, still curled close as if for warmth. 

Outside the rain seems to be reaching some sort of crescendo.


	2. Chapter 2

London is strange. Well Camden is strange. Or really, if Martin is honest, this particular shop in Camden is strange, all t-shirts on the ground floor, then down the steps to the vinyl and bikinis and day-glo nail polish, and down again to what he thinks of as hubble bubbles, and lastly, a shallower set of steps leading down to.. well to the sex aids. 

Coming from Fitton it feels every bit as foreign as any foreign country, and just like any other innocent tourist he doesn’t even realise what he's walking into at first, partly because the strobe lights make it hard to see but mostly because the things he is looking at are such strange shapes and colours - hot pink and kia-ora orange – and there are soft rubber prickles where any sort of prickles would be really uncomfortable. Probably. Martin wouldn’t mind finding out though, for Douglas. 

Douglas is, predictably, taking all this in his stride. Only saying something about being glad they left Arthur outside eating noodles, which Martin agrees with wholeheartedly. Arthur would either be completely confused, or running about going ‘Wow’ every few seconds. 

It is – a bit – like a sweetshop in here. That’s definitely the vibe they seem to be going for. 

‘Over there.’ Douglas points, and Martin realises Douglas has misheard him. He didn’t mean vibe as in.. 

Still it can’t hurt to look. There are handcuffs as well, all furry and green. Douglas is unavoidably reminded of St Patricks Day, and says so. 

‘They’d tickle.’ Martin tells him. ‘You know how ticklish I am.’ Then he blushes. ‘I mean..’ But although it’s on the tip of his tongue to say he didn’t mean it how it sounded, he somehow stops himself. Because he doesn’t really want to close that door, if it is a door. Instead he just shrugs an awkward sort of shrug and pretends interest in some luminous stickers instead. 

It's obvious that he's not comfortable with discussing it any further. Which Douglas would respect, probably, if his curiosity weren’t piqued. He’s never even considered the possibility Martin might be interested in that sort of thing. Might he – even – have _done_ that sort of thing? The thought is oddly discombobulating. Douglas is aroused and, to his own disgust, also quite annoyed by the thought.

‘I wasn’t going to judge.’ He says, as mildly as he can manage. Certainly doesn't feel in a position to judge, given some of the things he’d like to do to Martin. Spank his skinny, pretty arse until it turned the same colour as his cheeks, for one. Just for leaving Douglas with a tiny hint of a sliver of a promise, perhaps, then clamming up cold. ‘Why don’t you finish what you were going to say?’

‘I don’t know what I was going to say.’ Martin admits. ‘I don’t even know what I want to say.’ 

He almost knocks over a perspex carousel of condoms in his discomfort, still playing with things so he doesn’t have to look at Douglas. Only Douglas’s reflexes save him from sending the thing crashing to the floor, showering tiny metallic packets everywhere.

Luckily no-one else really notices. It’s quite crowded in here, with a large, constantly moving, self-absorbed sort of crowd. So many people that they cancel each other out and it’s just like being alone. 

‘Perhaps.’ Douglas suggests. ‘We should go and find Arthur.’ After all they’re flying back out in a few hours, and they’ve wandered quite a way from Heathrow.

Also, and this is the real reason, Douglas needs to think.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing, in the three days since they went to Camden, has changed..

Martin kisses like he’s drowning, like Douglas is oxygen. Nothing, in the three days since they went to Camden, has changed in that respect. Douglas wonders if he’s the only one conscious of the particular conversation they’ve been avoiding (Douglas can no longer tell himself he’s just picking a good moment. It is definitely avoidance). 

He is certain that he's the only one conscious of his own cowardice, allowing Martin to reveal something of himself and not reciprocating in kind.

His specific confession is difficult though, feels so much bigger and uglier. 

Martin’s wrists look so breakable, with Douglas’s fingers wrapped around them, just helping him up from the sofa, and Douglas knows that’s what he’s really scared of. That he’ll break him, break them, this closeness they’ve had, beyond repair.

He knows he’s distracted, and that worries him too. He keeps thinking, over and over, about handcuffs and Martin and things he shouldn’t want but does. He has him on his hands and knees in the bed, doggy fashion, and the impulse to hurt him. To just _fuck_ , without his usual painstaking preliminaries, is shockingly intense.

He doesn’t, of course, but the thought won’t leave his head, even during the sex itself. It spurs him on, makes him more greedy, until Martin has to grab at the headboard to stop himself from knocking his head on it, losing himself in a litany of ‘oh god, oh god, oh god’. Totally unaware of what he’s saying. 

He collapses as Douglas does, completely trapped for a few happy seconds before Douglas pulls away, and out.

‘Martin, I’m sorry..’ He says. ‘I think.. perhaps.. we should talk about this.’ 

The happy, sated feeling drops away from Martin at once, leaving him cold. He protests weakly. 

‘You said you wouldn’t judge.’ 

‘I wouldn’t. I’m not.’ Douglas says insistently. ‘What makes you think that?’

‘You apologised.’ Martin pushes himself up on his still shaky arms just so that he can glare accusingly out from under the disaster Douglas has made of his fringe. 

‘Because I was rather.. rough, with you.’ 

‘That doesn't even make sense. You must know I like it.’ Martin is startled by his own honesty. Oh well, in for a penny. ‘I thought maybe you’d done it just because of that.’ He admits.

‘I only wish I could claim to be that noble.’ Douglas says drily. 

Apparently Martin finds this declaration of selfishness reassuring, because he immediately crawls over and makes a point of snuggling down into his usual space, displacing Douglas's arm. Douglas settles it around him instead, cards his fingers up through Martin’s hair to make it even madder. 

‘Perhaps we should each write a list.’ Martin suggests. ‘And then show each other our lists.’

‘That sounds like a spectacularly hideous party game.’ Douglas says firmly. ‘We’ll talk.’ 

‘In the morning though.’ 

‘Yes all right.’ Douglas agrees. ‘In the morning.’


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conversation over and around breakfast is somewhat stilted,..

The conversation over and around breakfast is somewhat stilted, but they iron out, as a starting point, that neither of them have really done this sort of thing before. Although Martin admits, somewhat flustered, to a little online research about safewords and keeping things..

‘Um, safe.’ He finishes up, weakly. 

For his part Douglas is more embarrassed to admit he hasn’t done any research. Understandable though, he feels, given that he couldn't have expected it to be of use. 

‘What about now?’ Martin asks. 

‘If you want to, yes.’ It makes a difference, all the difference in the world, that he can now picture Martin not just tolerating but actively enjoying. It's reassuring, as well, that Martin has swotted up on the subject.

‘A lot if it is just the same idea as SOPs really.’ He explains. ‘You hope you’ll never need them but it's important to have them in case.’ 

There’s a joke in there somewhere, Douglas is sure, but now is not the moment. 

‘Come on then.’ He says instead. ‘Show me some of these websites.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was meant to be the beginning of a long and final chapter, but I'm not going to have the longer chapter ready tonight, and this actually works better alone. Teeny as it is.


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The air is moist and sultry and still, and Martin's skin feels feverish as he twists and tries to writhe free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so much longer than it was meant to, but I looked at it again and decided I needed to re-edit.

It’s raining again, loud against the sloped glass of the open window. The air is moist and sultry and still, and Martin’s skin feels feverish as he twists and tries to writhe free.

Douglas gives him a second or two, lets him get almost to the end of the bed before he pulls him back and pins him down, straddling him so that he cannot escape again, fingers clasped around his shoulders hard enough to bruise. 

‘Douglas..’ Martin gasps. 

‘I said be quiet.’ 

It takes a little while to slip into this persona, but Douglas has hit his stride now. There is already a striped red streak across the top of Martin’s arm, the imprint of a slap. 

Douglas loves these scattered marks, these tracks of possession. Not least because he has seen Martin gloating over them, seated on the edge of the bed and tracing his fingers around the circumference, seeming fascinated. 

Still he flinches as Douglas undoes the button of his jeans, hastily pulls down the zip, tugs Martin’s cock free of his pale blue underpants without ceremony and folds the elastic back under his balls so that Douglas can cast a coolly assessing eye over the whole thing. Martin is already hard, the very slight curve backwards towards his own stomach more noticeable in this position. 

He’s shaved hairless, the skin of his balls oddly naked and vulnerable as Douglas holds and squeezes them together, until the skin tightens and grows shiny and Martin wriggles uncomfortably, pressing his knees together as if in defiance. 

Douglas retaliates with a tighter squeeze, not too cruel, his eyes locked on Martin’s to make sure he is taking the point, and then flips him over on his stomach with almost idle easiness and drags Martin’s jeans all the way down to his ankles, his underwear left like a hobble around his knees. 

All the same Martin tries to get up on all fours - and is immediately caught and pushed flat again.

‘Stop being difficult.’ 

Fingers breach him roughly and he moans a soft, stubborn protest. Earns another slap.

‘I said stop.’ He’s still prepping Martin too fast, too insistently, nudging his knees further apart to slide another finger in, twisting his hand so that it corkscrews deeper. 

He digs his teeth into the cotton of the pillow case to stop himself from whimpering again, and Douglas has to suppress the impulse to ask if he’s alright. He's not supposed, in this scenario, to care.

It’s easier to be rough than indifferent, to let the possessive feelings intensify, to fill Martin up with sensation. He stops short at four fingers though, his other hand wrapped around the bony jut of Martin’s hip, keeping him still as Douglas fucks hard with them. Martin pushes back into the burn of it, breathing ragged, forgetting that he’s meant to be still. 

He’s trembling in earnest when Douglas stops, seemingly cowed. Unresisting. 

‘Come here.’ Douglas says, and Martin sways up to his knees, tucks himself tight against the headboard as he crawls round to face Douglas. 

He tries to sit back on his heels, but Douglas stops him. Fists one hand into his hair and keeps him where he is, on his hands and knees, while Douglas undoes his own flies left-handed. Martin’s eyes go wide and appealing, but there’s not much he can do as Douglas pulls him off balance by his hair, and presses his cock against Martin’s lips. 

Douglas holds him there, smearing over his mouth, his chin, before pressing in. Still controlling the movement as Martin sinks down, lips a tight, delicious zero, eyes closing as he concentrates. The muscles in his arms quiver as Douglas pulls him back up, but not off, and then drives him down again. He relies on that tight hold in his hair to keep him steady as Douglas speeds up, ravishing his mouth, his mind blissfully blank, letting himself be used. 

Martin barely catches himself when Douglas lets go and pulls away, blinks his eyes open again, dazed and blushing and wiping his eyes as he looks back up at Douglas. The tears make his lashes darker, his eyes brighter. 

‘Turn round.’ It comes out more gently than Douglas had meant it to, but Martin doesn’t seem to notice, crawling round again, settling on his knees and his elbows, palms already flat against the headboard to brace himself. 

Douglas’s cock is wet but not truly slick, and Martin feels a slight cling as the head just breaches him, almost a tease before Douglas settles his hands either side of Martin’s hips and thrusts twice, sharp and brutal, to drive himself all the way in. 

‘Oh God.’ Martin moans. ‘Douglas, please..’ 

‘Quiet.’ Douglas’s voice sounds harsh, breathing ragged as he struggles to control himself, but what he’s doing – without drawing attention to it - is giving Martin time to adjust to the sensation of Douglas inside him, to decide whether or not he really wants Douglas to stop. 

He can see Martin’s muscles shift and set as he steadies himself again, the blades of his shoulders sharp ridges under the skin, a smattering of freckles, then pale underneath. Ready for more. 

It isn’t gentle. It wouldn’t make sense to be gentle after everything else tonight. Martin closes his eyes the better to feel it, Douglas throwing aside his usual caution and just seizing, selfishly, in and in. It feels like it’s snowballing, picking up momentum. Hot and bruising. Like shocks under the skin, like he couldn’t get away if he wanted to. Like being thoroughly, endlessly, possessed. 

He forgets to be quiet, incoherent sounds escaping at the over stimulation, the savagery, as Douglas fucks Martin through his orgasm and out the other side, holding him tight as his muscles give up on him, and the cries turn to sobs and pleas that it’s too much. 

But Douglas is only seconds behind, too far gone to be ashamed that’s its Martin’s distress that finally pushes him over the edge. Holding Martin close into himself as he comes. 

He keeps him there as they roll sideways afterwards, shifts him closer as he turns in Douglas’s arms so they can fit together, despite the heat they’re both radiating. 

‘Are you alright?’ Douglas asks, still breathless. 

Martin nods. They’ll discuss it properly later, but it’s really reassurance that they both need for now. 

And sleep of course. Sleep would be wonderful.


End file.
